


Shut Down the World

by lazarus_girl



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-13
Updated: 2009-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Emily is red."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Down the World

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 3x09 “Katie and Emily.” Inspired by Rufus Wainwright’s 'Shut Down the World (Leaving You).'
> 
> Originally posted at my Livejournal. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

Red. That's what she sees. Brilliant red. Like blood, rubies or roses. But that isn’t the first thing she thinks of when she sees it. It never is. Emily. Emily is red.

She reaches out a hand, tentatively, her fingertips delicately touching the closest tendril of Emily's hair, surprised by its softness, half expecting it to burn her somehow. Her face is entirely obscured, but Naomi knows the exact shape and placement of all her features: her darker than dark brown eyes hidden beneath her closed lids; her gentle mouth curved into a smile even in sleep. It takes her breath to watch her like this, so quiet and peaceful. Emily is still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Yes. She's still there. It’s still real.

This, being here, doing this, being like this, is still a novelty. The fact that her room, let alone her bed, is being shared; that her pillows and sheets hold scent other than her own is still strange to her, but it’s the best kind of strange. A strange that makes her feel giddy and light-headed, in a way that she used to think was stupid. But that was before she knew better, before she really knew Emily, instead of some faint idea of her; dredged from her memory, fuzzy around the edges, save for that glorious red hair and heavy fringe. Katie’s never looked quite the same. Emily was always the one who intrigued her.

She was always pretty, Naomi thinks, finally able to admit such things.

Even though initial panic and confusion she felt over wanting Emily in the first place has gone, in the back of her mind something is still nagging away at her, souring the sweetness of the moments they share. So much of it is still new, and yet, for some reason, she feels like it's slipping away from her too, like some great big hourglass, off somewhere she can’t reach is haemorrhaging sand, and she’s powerless to stop it. Maybe that’s the new panic. Now she had Emily, she had Emily to lose.

It’s all too much. She turns away from her then, taking some of the bed clothes with her.

Biting down on her lip, she forces the tears threatening to spill back down again, staring at the ceiling, watching shadowy shapes of leaves, projected by the stream of sunlight sneaking in through the gap in her curtains. She should be happy. She is happy, but happiness isn’t something she’s used to. Being loved without pause and measure is as foreign to her as map on her wall and the countries she’s marked out to visit. The fact she has now has someone to visit them with makes her smile. They could stick a pin in that map. Go anywhere. Do anything. Just her and Emily. Her Emily, alone together.

Things like that don’t really happen. Not to people like her.

Maybe that was the problem. She always thought that love and happiness was for songs, soppy films and cutesy little greetings cards. Love had never felt real to her, it was always in the abstract and out of reach. Until it became real and concrete, when Emily looked in her eyes, held her hand, their fingers interlacing; the spark she felt then grew to a glorious explosion the moment they touched. Emily was a firecracker, illuminating the pitch black of her life, never to be the same, even after she’s burned out.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Emily turns in her sleep, facing her, so close and yet so far away. Naomi takes her in again, never tiring of watching, looking and learning; of finding new things to love and adore. She tries to record it all, for the times when they aren’t together. As if her watching, blinking slowly, is the equivalent of taking a thousand snapshots on a film she never needs to develop. Click. Click. Click. The tears come then, but they aren’t bitter, like they would have been a few moments ago, they’re ones of joy, ones of silent praise for the serendipity of their paths crossing, not once, but twice in life. For once, she got lucky. Emily was the jackpot prize.

Crying because you’re happy seems ridiculous.

She doesn’t believe in God, not really, but she believes in something higher, something higher that conspired to bring them together. Her mum said that everything happens for a reason, and when it comes to Emily, she thinks it’s true, no, knows it’s true. It makes her think of their very first kiss. It happened unexpectedly, on the Fitches back step, whilst some obscenely loud pop record blared in the background, during the twins’ twelfth birthday party. They were outside, talking; having grown tired of the noise and Katie’s stupid party games, which she insisted they participate in. She’d leant toward her to try and hear her better, and then Emily kissed her on impulse.

Whenever she hears the record, it reminds her and tugs at her heart.

She sings the words, quietly – _I’m just a love machine … Feeding my fantasy_ – smiling to herself. It’s the kind that only Emily has seen. She tasted of strawberries – from her lipgloss, sticky, overly sweet and waxy; of lemonade – with the slightest dash of cheap vodka, Katie had coerced them all into it, raiding their dad’s drinks cabinet, tipping in the tiniest amount and thinking it risqué; and of the buttery, sweet cream that sandwiched together the two halves of their birthday cake. It was over before it began – chaste and nervous, their lips brushing together softly. They sat in silence for a moment, looking between each other and the patio. Emily’s cheeks burned, and she ran inside.

No one ever kissed her like that again.

That happy accident now felt more like some kind of cosmic design. She’d written it off of course, especially when Emily, fearful of her sister’s wrath, pushed it all onto her. It was Naomi who started it. Whenever Katie described it, it sounded like some horrible, vicious attack; that she’d preyed on her and Emily was defenceless. It was a lot to endure, sometimes, Katie’s constant gossiping and name-calling, spreading like a disease through their class, then their form, and then the whole year. In the end, she endured it because it was easier to tell a lie than face the truth. She used to think that she just did it for Emily’s sake, but maybe it was for the both of them all along. They only talked a little after that; she was guarded, thought the world was out to get her, inherently mistrustful, and girls like Katie only gave her just cause. As for Emily, she was just painfully shy; eclipsed at every turn by her louder sister. Her confidence was nonexistent.

The mark she made was indelible.

Touching her fingertips to her own lips, she feels the ghost of that kiss still lingering there as she brushes the shed tears away, attempting to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted for was for Emily’s first sight of her today to be a blubbing mess, even though as crying went it was the pretty, delicate kind of crying you see on telly, rather than the wracking ugly kind that usually actually happened. She’d done her fair share of that when it came to Emily, and she knew she’d been the cause of just as many tears for her too. Mostly, Naomi cried alone in this very room, her pillow or a loud record muffling the sound for fear of being heard, and worse, being found. Sometimes, she’d cry in the shower; like when she came back from the lake, knowing a line had been drawn in her life, and no matter how hard she tried, she could never truly go back. Rarer still, she’d cry in the park, sitting alone on a bench while rain pelted her, until she couldn’t stand the rain or the crying anymore. No tears had ever been shed in front of Emily.

It was just her way. Her defence mechanism.

Brushing the back of her hand against Emily’s cheek, she takes in a quick breath, as it dawns on her this might be the last time they’ll be like this. All summer, they’ve been in this state of freedom, going where they wanted, when they wanted, doing whatever they pleased. If they were still at that age where they wrote about what they did in the holidays, like in junior school, it wouldn't be the fleeting sun, or warm beer and melting ice cream she’d write about. Her summer could be summarised in one word: Emily. All the things she'd learned of her. For her. About her. The attention Emily lavished on her was intoxicating: kissing her until her lungs ached for air; touching, stroking and exploring until neither could take anymore but never wanted it to end. She was a willing captive, usually pinned to the bed with no means of escape. Emily was deceptively strong.

Every single second of it was bliss.

Once the exams were over, and love had been declared – in about the most public way possible – that was when she really got to know Emily. They rarely left her room, even in sweltering heat. The fan would oscillate warm air and the open windows wouldn’t generate even the slightest breeze, but it wouldn’t make them leave. The second Emily brought it up; she’d would accost her, flip her over and obliterate such thoughts with a barrage of kisses. On the verge of starvation, they would venture down to the kitchen, sometimes finding her mum and Kieran, exchanging knowing looks while they raided the fridge; other times finding readymade sandwiches in the there with a little “eat me” post-it note stuck to the plate when they were home alone. But, the days she liked best of all would be when Emily would make them, knowing that she was useless at looking after herself.

After today, everything would change. The bubble would pop.

On the rare occasions they weren’t holed up in her room, reaching Olympic sport levels of marathon kissing, they’d go out with the others sometimes, to clubs, house parties or concerts. Mostly, they went to stop Katie pestering, to keep the peace between her and Effy – they’d either be at opposite ends of the room or in each other’s faces, there was no middle ground – and appease her for keeping her mouth shut and not grassing on Emily on the nights she got home late, putting her talent for telling lies to good use. Sometimes, Emily confided that she barely made it into bed before their dad would come in and check on them as he had done since they were little; that sometimes she would still be wearing her clothes under the covers. Emily had become fearless.

Naomi wishes she could be as brave.

Fear wasn’t quite the right word; she couldn’t give a fuck what the populous of Roundview thought about her snogging the face off Emily Fitch in public, or shagging the arse off her in private – admittedly, sometimes it wasn’t so private. Katie, Cook, JJ, Freddie, Thomas and Panda had all gotten used to them; it wasn’t odd for them to hold hands or even kiss a bit when they were out. Cook had gotten past the laughing and wolf-whistling stage long ago and had recently taken to referring to Emily as “the mrs.” Panda thought it was sweet. Thomas told them it was wonderful. JJ said they looked very nice together. Freddie gave them a nod of blessing said nothing more, except for the times when he’d give Cook a dig in the side when he was being twat or JJ a well-timed slap when he got too locked on about it all. Effy, predictably, took the piss and rolled her eyes, but underneath, Naomi reckoned she thought it was cool. Katie – after suggesting that Effy was just jealous, and threatening her with a slow painful death if she so much as made Emily cry – pretty much accepted it since she had no other choice. Emily wasn’t about to take sides.

She would never ask her to either.

Still, she didn’t feel like being the poster girl or the freak show. No matter how Emily would couch it, on the few times they had briefly discussed it, it still felt like everyone would be watching and looking; like it was all some massive experiment, and they had been handed the unfortunate role of lab rat. Even if they dared to say anything after being faced with the wrath of Katie, the others would protect them, she knew that, but it didn’t make her feel any better. It wasn’t just about college either; Emily’s parents worried her more than anything. They couldn’t keep this up for long. One day all the lies would catch up with them and the fallout would be massive. Then, Emily would have to choose.

It would break her heart.

The mere possibility of that happening, and the weight of the thought, catches her off guard. It makes her feel sick, and her stomach drops. She tries to push it all way, but it keeps surging, relentlessly. Emily’s mum hated her already, she’d made it plain. She was the one with the control, she was the bad influence. The possibilities of what Mrs Fitch could be capable of filled her with genuine dread, what she’d experienced already felt very much like the tip of the iceberg. She had the control, she had the power. At least where she was concerned, Naomi knew what she was derailing with, so she could be ready with some form of defence, but Emily’s dad was an unknown quantity, and that was even more frightening. He was either in complete denial or completely stupid. Either way, when the truth came out, it wouldn’t be pretty. Even Emily couldn’t gauge how he’d react.

It was because they all loved her, that’s what she justifies it with.

Compared to Emily, she knew she was lucky and had it easy. But, the fact that her own mother was so open-minded was a curse sometimes; she could never do anything to shock her, because she’d done it all already. It meant that being wound up about her feelings for Emily seem like some weird sort of reverse rebellion. She and her mum hadn’t had a massive chat about her and Emily being together, they never really needed to. Naomi never really knew how, but her mum always had a sixth sense for things, always knowing what to say and whenever she needed to hear it. When she walked in on them one day – it was nothing too x-rated, thank God – to find them kissing as they sat cross-legged on the carpet, smoking the last of Emily’s roll-ups and listening to The Jam – part of Emily’s musical re-education, since aside from her Blondie/Debbie Harry obsession, she had terrible taste – All her mum did was give a little laugh and then close the door behind her, like she’d expected it. Emily was mortified.

Naomi stifles a giggle at the memory. She’d never seen someone blush so deeply.

The closest they’d gotten discussing Emily was just before she left for party at Cook’s, calling out to her as she ran down the stairs two at a time, knowing that it was Emily at the door when the bell rang. Showing unusual restraint, she managed not to pin her against the door as soon as she was inside and kiss her to death. Her mum called again, asking them both into the living room. They sat together on the sofa, and Emily immediately reached for her hand, holding tight, intertwining their fingers. They both feared the worst, and Naomi rubbed her thumb back and forth against Emily’s to comfort her. As soon as her mum, and then Kieran spoke, the fifteen knots in her stomach untied themselves. This wasn’t the conversation either of them had expected. Emily’s expression told her as much. Instead of an intervention, it was an interrogation – the deeply embarrassing rather than nerve-shredding kind. She glared at her mum, willing her to stop, but it only seemed to make her more determined to probe. Thankfully, Emily didn’t seem to mind, and politely answered every question her mum and Kieran fired off.

Emily handled it well. It still makes her proud.

Naomi was always amused by the fact he always referred to her as Emily Fitch, having picked up the habit from college, enquiring with typical bluntness if they were “going out” one day over breakfast, as if he felt the need to further differentiate, despite them not knowing anyone else called Emily and she certainly wasn’t about to fall in love with Katie anytime soon. She didn’t have to try very hard to impress; since he already preferred her to Katie – which wasn’t difficult since Emily was hardworking and obedient and Katie wasn’t anything like that. She’d gotten along with her mum from the off, she was the kind of girl parents immediately liked, a definite bonus since she was the only person Naomi had brought home. Ever. When she left to answer her phone – Katie, naturally – It was Naomi’s turn to feel vulnerable, which quickly disappeared when her mum came out with just about the best sentence ever uttered, saying she was glad that Emily “made her happy.” She followed this with a quick kiss atop the head and warned her not get too drunk at the party. Kieran just grinned and pressed twenty quid into her palm, suggesting she buy Emily something “nice” with it.

It was the kind of approval Emily longed for, but would be a long time coming.

If only they could stay in this room forever. In here, she could keep her safe and they’d never get found out. She’d never have to learn of the bitter arguments and harsh punishments; they’d never be forced apart after fighting their feelings for so long; and they’d never been torn apart by how that separation would make them feel. It would happen; they both knew it, even if they didn’t admit it, but inside these walls, it felt like she could stop time, like they lived in a secret world that ran parallel to the real one, and only they had the keys. No one else would matter except for her and Emily.

Planet Earth, total population: two persons.

She would hold her close, kiss away the fear she sometimes saw in her eyes when she woke up with a start in the early hours of the morning, well past her curfew, scrambling out of bed and taking almost everything with her. Kiss away her escalating panic when she got dressed, rushing around looking for her shoes, bag or house keys that were tossed into the dark corners of her room without care hours earlier when lust overtook them. Kiss away her thoughts of leaving. Everything she would ever need was in this room. Emily would never hurt again; she would make sure of it.

It’s a perfect, but foolish plan, she knows as much.

Emily murmurs a soft “Naomi” in her sleep, reaching for her. At the sound of Emily saying her name, her stomach flutters. It was all she needed to hear; her comfort and reassurance. Emily made all the things that troubled her drift away like smoke rising in air. Naomi turns, pulling her into her arms, knowing she’s in that strange third stage, where you’re not really asleep and yet not really awake and she doesn’t want to tip the balance. She sent up a silent plea for them to be allowed to stay like this, just a little longer. When they were together, it was easier to let go of everything that haunted her, even if it was only for a while. She says her name again, more awake, more urgent, wanting for something. Wanting for her. Its raspiness never fails to make her go weak. The need she has for Emily makes her angry sometimes. It’s a frustration fuelled by desire and by the power of it, rather than hatred for it.

All she felt for her was love. She could never hate Emily.

When Emily settles and nuzzles against her, skin on skin, it makes her feel safe and grounded, like they’re a single person. She strokes Emily’s back, lightly, watching her fingertips glide back and forth, across her skin. Emily sighs contentedly. When she raises her head, her mouth drawing level with Naomi’s, their lips meet softly, brushing together in delicate little pecks - once, twice, just like that first time. Naomi deepens it on impulse and Emily responds, murmuring approval against her lips. She doesn’t know how long has passed when Emily pulls back, caressing her face carefully, smiling at her, still sleepy. Naomi opens her mouth to speak, but Emily shushes her, placing a finger to her lips before they kiss again, deeply, lazily, just because they can.

It makes her feel precious and adored.

When the kisses drift down her neck, she gasps, threading her fingers through Emily’s hair, tugging, just a little. It’s slowly driving her mad in the best of ways, and she lets out a shaky breath when Emily magically hits a spot near her collarbone that’s never before been kissed. Emily rights that wrong, and carries on downward, ghosting kisses down Naomi’s stomach in quick succession. She loses all focus. The effect Emily has on her is still as strong, still as dizzying. The real world and the days ahead fade into nothing, suddenly inconsequential. Now was what mattered, Emily was what mattered. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her alarm clock, realises its digits are flashing constantly, telling the wrong time. It was stuck at twelve midnight – the time they came home.

She doesn’t care.

Right before her eyes close, and she loses herself in Emily entirely, she sees the contrast of Emily’s hair against her hand as it slips through her fingers and she disappears from view. Red. Emily will always be red.


End file.
